


All in the Blue and Unclouded Weather

by SplatterOfPaint



Category: Black Beauty - Anna Sewell
Genre: Gen, Happy Ending, Post-Canon, Post-Canon Fix-It
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-15
Updated: 2020-12-15
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:01:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28085871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SplatterOfPaint/pseuds/SplatterOfPaint
Summary: Black Beauty and Ginger meet again.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 5
Collections: Books of Yule





	All in the Blue and Unclouded Weather

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Katherine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katherine/gifts).



Willie Thoroughgood came to me that morning with an apple and a carrot, as he often does. As it is Spring, the produce is fresh and delicious. He strokes my neck and speaks to me softly of his schooling, his friends, his joys, his sorrows. He also tells me what is happening in both his house, and in the of the Blomefields.

“Miss Ellen tells me you will soon have visitors,” Willie says conspiratorially. “Have you got any old friends, Beauty?”

Not for the first time, I wish I could speak, as humans do. If I could, I would have said: “yes, Willie. More than I care to remember, all lost bar Joe Green”.

At that moment, Joe himself walks over to us, with a bran mash for me, and talks gently and softly to Willie while I enjoy my meal.

“I wonder if he will remember them,” Willie suddenly says. “He certainly remembers you.”

“Aye, and I was but a boy when he last saw me,” Joe replies. “I’m sure Beauty will know them. In any case, we shall know tomorrow.”

I look at them both, still chewing, and the curiosity must show on my face, for both Willie and Joe smile at me.

“Don’t worry, Beauty,” Joe says softly, stroking my neck. “It’s a surprise you’ll enjoy.”

Now as excellent a groom as his mentor John Manly rather than the careless boy who almost killed me without meaning to, I take Joe at his word. After all, I trust him. And the curiosity cannot hurt me.

***

The next morning, I cannot help myself: I go to the fence in my field which is nearest to the house and stand under the fine chestnut tree which grows there and casts a lovely cool shade. My position also gives me an unhindered view of the road, and any visitors who may come travel down it.

But the day is warmer than expected, and I only realise that I have been dozing when I hear the unmistakable sounds of hoofbeats and human voices. Drifting been sleep and wakefulness, I am certain that I am back at Birtwick Park, Ginger and Merrylegs beside me as the Gordons have tea under Mrs Gordon’s favourite Willow tree…

“My goodness! It _is_ Black Beauty!”

My eyes snap open and I am truly discombobulated: in front of me, in the flesh, are Squire and Mrs Gordon!

"Indeed, it is, my lady," says Joe. "See, here is the little patch of white that John always called 'Beauty's three-penny bit', and here, the knot where the poor boy had to be bled."

"I can scarcely believe my eyes, Joe, or our luck, but I do believe you are right!" the squire exclaims.

"Indeed," Joe says. "I knew you would want to see him."

"I am so very glad, Joe," Mrs Gordon says, putting her hand on his forearm. "We are so very, very glad. Few weeks have passed since we parted that we have not thought of Beauty."

Joe smiles, and I can see that his eyes are wet. "Shall I go and collect her?" Joe asks, and Mrs Gordon nods, before turning back to me.

“My beautiful horse,” Mrs Gordon says softly, reaching her hand out to me, palm up. “My beautiful boy…do you remember us?”

I press my nose into her hand, and I see her eyes fill with tears.

I hear steady hoofbeats and human footsteps and can see that, behind Squire and Mrs Gordon, Joe is now tending to a fine chestnut horse with long, elegant legs and a proud neck.

“Oh, my dear husband! We never should have sold them!” Mrs Gordon cries as she strokes my neck softly, and I look back to her. “Look at what happened to them! Such glorious animals made old before their time through the barbarous treatment of people who know better.”

“Darling, we had no choice,” the Squire says, his own eyes becoming wet when I press my nose into his hand as well.

“It is all my fault,” Mrs Gordon says. “It is all my fault. I am so very, very sorry, Beauty.”

I whinny gently and press my face into her hands, trying to reassure her that, despite my struggles, all is now well.

“I am sorry, Beauty,” the Squire says. “We should have taken you all with us. If only we’d known…”

A high-pitched, spirited whinny from the chestnut horse Joe is tending to breaks the reverie, and I lean my neck over the fence for a better look.

“There, now, pretty miss,” Joe says, his voice gentle and good-humoured. “There’s the high spirit I remember so well.”

Joe smiles and begins to lead the mare over to me, and I see her face for the first time.

My heart leaps in my chest, although I can scarcely believe it. Before I can stop myself, I call out, tossing my head joyfully.

“Ginger!” I cry. “Is that really you?”

She reaches her nose out to mine, and I return the gesture.

Beside us, I can hear Mrs Gordon in happy tears, saying, “they remember each other! They remember each other! Oh, this is a happy day!”

“I have missed you, Black Beauty,” Ginger says to me, her voice uncharacteristically soft, likely in an attempt to restrain intense emotions.

“And I, you, Ginger,” I reply. “I am glad that the previous time we met was not truly destined to be the last.”

Ginger laughs softly despite herself. “How wretched I was then!” she says. “And as to how I come to be here now, well, it is indeed quite the story to tell.”

“I look forward to hearing it, should you wish to share it,” I reply.

Mrs Gordon’s voice sounds like it is coming from very far away, although she has not moved. “Would Miss Blomefield and her sisters be willing to let Ginger into the field with Beauty, do you think, Joe?”

“I believe so, my lady,” Joe says, and opens the gate to grant Ginger admittance to my field.

For a moment, all we can do is look at each other, scarcely believing that fate – so often unkind – has led us both to this moment, to be reunited in this happy place as our beloved old master and mistress stand speaking to my new mistress. I cannot believe that Miss Ellen and Mrs Gordon are old friends. What chance! What luck!

Ginger steps forward, and puts her head on my shoulder, her elegant neck wrapping around mine, and begins to tell her story.

“Not long after we last met, the man who rented me was killed in a fire. I wish I could say it was a great shame or that I was very sad, but all I felt was relief,” she says, and – recalling far too well how poorly she looked that day at the cab stand – I certainly cannot blame her for her sentiment.

“The man who owned me came to collect me, and declared I was to go to the knackery: he had finally used me up, he said.

“But when I arrived at the knackery, the daughter of the owner took a liking to me. ‘This poor mare was once a very fine horse indeed!’ said she. ‘She is far younger than she looks. I believe, with a little care, she may yet recover, at least somewhat’.

“At first, I was confused: part of me had almost looked forward to death,” Ginger says, and I can’t help but flinch internally at her words. “But there was something in this woman that intrigued me. What could she possibly want with me?

“Her father let her have me without charge. ‘Here, Francesca,’ said he. ‘See what you can make of her.’

“Miss Francesca was very gentle and kind, and she spoke to me a great deal, especially about the imbalance of power in the human world between men and women. She was a fine horsewoman indeed, and is very gifted with horses, but could not find and keep work due to men’s prejudices.

“She was also a young widow, but vowed never to remarry not because of deviation to her late husband, but because he was a violent drunk who had almost caused her death more than once due to cruelty and negligence. Miss Francesca said that, when she saw me, in the state I was in at the knackery, she felt a kinship, and could not let me die before my time.

“Under her care, I found myself thriving as I hadn’t since our years together at Birtwick Park. Miss Francesca refuses to ride side-saddle - she says it is 'dangerous stupidity' and knows two women who have died falling from a horse whilst riding side-saddle. So, when my strength returned, we would go on many merry jaunts together, first only at a walk, then building to a trot, a canter, and then finally, a full gallop. It felt so good, old friend! To be able to run, unhindered by swollen legs and ruined lungs.

“Miss Francesca is also involved in a 'secret' society for horsewomen, which allows ladies to ride in privacy and so do not need to ride side-saddle unless they choose to, just to maintain their good reputation socially. We had been attending these meetings twice a week for a couple of months when Miss Francesca brought two women over to meet me, as they said I reminded them of a horse they once knew."

Here, Ginger pauses, and I believe she is overwhelmed. "Miss Franchesca told me that the two women said I reminded them of a much-loved horse that they had lost and still missed. The two women were Mrs Gordon and Miss Jessie again.”

She falls silent and the torrent of emotions I feel are almost overwhelming, but I am at loss of what to say.

I just stand at her side, supporting her as best I can. “I am glad she found you, Ginger,” I say finally.

To my surprise, Ginger laughs. “As am I, old friend, as am I.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for the great prompts! I just couldn't resist writing a 'happy ending' for Ginger as I have always wanted one for her myself. She didn't deserve such a tough life. After 2020, it was quite therapeutic writing this, so I hope you enjoy it!
> 
> (That said, this story is, by far, the most cheerful thing I have written in some time, and I am a bit worried I have lost the ability to write anything that is a truly "feelgood" read. I hope I have managed to pull it off!)
> 
> I hope you enjoy this story and that you and your loved ones have a safe, restful and pleasant holiday season, Katherine!


End file.
